Spilt Coffee
by purple-heather
Summary: They say there's no use in crying over spilt milk, or in this case coffee, but things aren't always that simple. Tony stumbles upon the scene of another of Bruce's break downs and does his best to comfort him. Warnings: Depression, reference to suicide. One-shot to start with, R&R is much appreciated
1. Chapter 1

The very first indicator that something was wrong were the lights, or lack of which as he entered the door which lead to Bruce's expansive lab and rooms that took up this whole floor of the tower. Usually at this time (barely gone 7 o'clock) Bruce would still be up working on something or other, tinkering with various formulas and substances and all the lights- all of them- would be on, bathing the entire floor in somewhat harsh artificial luminescence. Tony had suggested something a little softer at the time of decoration, but Banner had been very much insistent that it was easier for him to focus on work that way. But right now there was nothing but shadow and intermittent interruptions from the moonlight, which gave little relief from the oppressing darkness.

Tony didn't turn the lights on, didn't even call out, because for the first time since Bruce had moved in he felt like an intruder, but also- the same thing that stopped him leaving- he felt suddenly, horribly worried. Maybe he had fallen asleep somewhere or was even out with someone, but he knew that the latter couldn't be true, as JARVIS had informed him of Bruce's presence when he had entered the tower. Call it odd, but Tony always felt comforted by the knowledge of his whereabouts. Now maybe not so much. Perhaps because he was very well aware of the sort of things one could get up to on their own, the thoughts one could become capable of.

The inventor walked silently through the apartment come laboratory, careful not to bump into anything; more aware of the layout than he had ever given thought to before. It made sense after all the time he spent in here: talking to Bruce or helping him with some work, not that he really needed it being one of the most brilliant scientists he'd met in a long time. Something twisted inside him just at the memory of Bruce's laugh and if it weren't for the current anxiety he may have smiled. Assessment of these feelings would have to wait however, because right now he was nearing the closed door to Bruce's bedroom, to find that his earlier thought incorrect. There was indeed a light on, evidence of which was glowing under the gap between the door and polished wood floor.

Tony reached out to wrap a hesitant hand around the burnished metal of the door knob, twisting it carefully before going to push it open. It edged open without a sound, revealing a half lit room that was so tidy and so seemingly empty that Tony took longer than usual to spot it's lone occupant.

Any greeting he had in mind stuck in in his throat at the sight of his favourite doctor. The position was more familiar with occasions when Banner was about to hulk out, hunched with his hands fisting his hair. But that couldn't be the case as there wasn't the slightest hint of green in what little skin Tony could see. In fact the knuckles were pretty much white from the force with which they were gripping his hair, almost seemed to be pulling it out. And Bruce looked smaller than ever before, hunched in on himself, his wrists almost looked like they could be snapped with the application of minimal force. Underneath the trademark purple shirt, which was badly torn all over, Tony could see the signs of a person severely malnourished. Under the panic that was beginning to bubble in his veins, he had to wonder why he hadn't spotted this sooner, after all someone can't just change into this over night. How many indicators had he missed? How many chances had there been to intervene, while he simply hadn't noticed the problem?

"It didn't work." Tony was startled out of his self interrogation by the words, muttered with a mixture of anger and sadness; or at least that is what the inventor picked up on. "It never works." If it wasn't obvious enough by the tone of his voice, then the fact that he was talking into his lap made it clear that Bruce was talking to no one other than himself and was probably too out of it to have even noticed Tony's arrival. But why? Usually the doctor was one of the most observant people he knew.

He couldn't help the short question that slipped from his lips. "What didn't work Bruce?" He had a pretty good idea of what his friend was referring to but didn't want to jump to conclusions, especially when this particular conclusion made him feel sick to the stomach. As selfish as it sounded, Tony wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, which was bound to be a reminder of how he had failed someone he claimed to be close to.

Bruce's head snapped up at the new voice, more startled due to perception that he had been alone. "T-tony." He stuttered out the acknowledgement while struggling to stand, using the wall behind him for support. Tony frowned to see how his thin form shook like a leaf. "It's nothing" Once upright the smaller man tried to brush past him, presumably attempting to escape the scrutiny of his gaze. But Bruce, who was more often the most controlled of people, tripped and would have fallen to the floor if it wasn't for the arm that wrapped around his waist and pulled him upright once more. While this did serve the purpose of saving Bruce it also brought about some additional consequences that hadn't quite been intended.

Due to their proximity when the shorter man tripped, Tony's catch rendered them far closer together than social protocol dictated was appropriate, chests actually pressed together, something that might have been an altogether more pleasurable experience if it weren't for the particular mixture of variables that had lead to this outcome. His arm was wrapped around Bruce's waist, hand resting on his lower back, and he hadn't quite regained the mental presence to remove it yet. Tony looked down at the face just below his and felt his heart clench painfully. Bruce's lips were slightly down-turned at the edges but the thing that really did it were the eyes. Not necessarily one for reading body language, Tony had to wonder at the fact that so much pain was translated by such little variation. He didn't know how but he wanted to make it better. Hell he didn't even know what it was, but just looking at those eyes made him ache. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Surely that level of raw sadness didn't just appear over night. He called himself a close friend of Bruce's and yet somehow allowed this to go unchecked. Tony already hated himself a little for it. As much as he had changed, at the core he was still somewhat self-obsessed, which had to make him at least somewhat at fault for the wreck in his arms. Bruce's smaller body quivered and shook against his, whether from the cold or not, it had yet to become apparent.

In some unconscious attempt at comfort- often a foreign concept for the billionaire- he reached a hand out to cup Bruce's cheek, an errant thumb rubbing against the stubbly skin. This gesture alone seemed to wake Bruce from his daze, as he gasped at the contact, the sound of which was shortly followed by the rattle of something hitting the floor. Both sets of eyes went to the floor, locating the object Bruce had apparently dropped. Tony frowned, relinquishing his hold on the fellow scientist and bending to pick it up, becoming only more concerned at recognising the smooth plastic of a pill bottle. Some sort of sleep medication, from what Tony could tell.

"What is this Bruce?" His tone was soft and calm, contrasted with this anger that he could feel just below the surface. Sympathy and betrayal battled for dominance and it was the burn of disappointment that won out. Bruce didn't give an answer, his gaze flickered anxiously to the side, where Tony noticed there was a collection of similar bottles clustered on the rather prominent double bed, before falling to the floor, becoming far too interested in the carpet. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" This anger that spilled over seemed to be Tony's one way of showing that he cared, not being so good at the subtler side of things. Perhaps it was selfish, but Tony hated the idea that Bruce could choose to leave him, even if it hadn't actually worked in the end. Of course he remembered when Bruce had told him of his previous attempt, how the other guy had stopped it.

Under his own steam, Bruce had wandered over to the bed and sat down heavily, a stray hand going to rake through the pile of empty pill bottles, clinking rather than rattling. When he spoke it was in a vacant manner and wasn't quite an answer to the original question "You know, a tenth of this would have killed a normal person." He said this with a sense of vague interest, as if it were trivia to be noted, though nothing impressive. "Or to be more specific, the average lethal dose is considered to be 9.7% of that." It was odd that even in the given situation, Bruce wanted- or perhaps needed- to maintain scientific and mathematic integrity. Turning to look Tony in the eye properly for once, he questioned with a child-like naivety "Why can't I be normal?" The implication of the question was unpleasant and jarring for various reasons, and he tried not to dwell on them, for fear of loosing his grasp on the debatably messed up conversation.

"Normality is a subjective term," When was anyone ever truly normal? Was it even possible? Tony sensed an interruption, probably on the bounds that turning into a green rage monster was hardly debatable on the imaginary scale of abnormality, and chose to side-step it "I know that's not what you meant, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a valid point." Bruce had to see that there was no normal, and that all he ever had to be was himself. "If you were 'normal' you wouldn't be the same man today. And I don't just mean the other guy." Tony leaned over and placed a tentative hand on Bruce's knee, feeling a warmth that hadn't been there before, relieved at the fact he was returning to a stable body temperature. "And we might not have met otherwise, which would obviously suck for you." He kicked himself mentally at the egotistical joke that slipped out but was encouraged when Bruce cracked a half smile. "I mean who doesn't want to be friends with me?" The real answer to that supposedly rhetorical question was actually quite a lot of people. Sure plenty wanted to receive handouts from him, or merely assistance from the influence of his name, but the people who actually wanted to know him, the ones that actually gave a shit were few and far between. "Seriously though," His tone grew sombre, as he returned to the subject at hand, well aware that while he was hardly the right person to talk to about it, he should be the person to talk to. "What brought this on exactly?" Despite the ambiguity of the question, he had to assume that Bruce knew what he meant; how else was he supposed to word it anyway?

Bruce huffed a little, like a child might when they realized a parent had remembered a misdemeanor, before redirecting his eyes to his lap. "You'll think it's stupid." He murmured the words, almost seeming embarrassed to say them.

"How I could ever consider anything that came out of your mouth was stupid is beyond comprehension." And Tony really did believe that. Despite being an arrogant bastard from time to time, he often looked to the Doctor for a second opinion. This being the case, he also held most anything he said in high regard, and so would rarely question the integrity of what he said. Even if he didn't agree, he could understand and appreciate. "Please just tell me Bruce."

The other man sighed, as if in surrender, before speaking "I was in a café earlier and when I got up to fetch some sugar for my espresso a waitress bumped into me and spilt hot coffee down my front. I don't know why, but I almost turned then. It was a close enough call that I tore up my shirt and ruined a glass top table." That would explain the tattered shirt, although not why he was still wearing it.

"No use crying over spilt milk Bruce." He paused to make a correction to the traditional saying, frowning as he did so. "Or spilt coffee in this case." The poor attempt at wit hadn't been intentional but it slipped out all the same.

By the way he was talking Bruce definitely seemed to have sobered a little, but his eyes were still a little glassy and unfocused. "Don't you see? That's precisely my point Tony. A normal person doesn't narrowly avoid absolute rage after having someone accidentally spill a drink on them. I could have killed that girl, numerous other people too" Bruce worried the skin on his knuckles and repetitively clenched and unclenched his finger, red marks begin to rise on the abused surface. Tony reaches out and separates the two hands, uncurling the fingers and laying them palm down on Bruce's knees.

"But you didn't Bruce, you stopped the other guy." Tony regularly marvelled at his control. Tony firmly believed that the only reason for today's slip was down to an unfortunate culmination of factors; such as the sleep deprivation evident in the bags under his eyes.

"Only just, which was just chance really. My being around only increases the risk for other people, innocent people to get hurt. It's not worth the worry. I'm not. Before all this shit happened I used to want things. A good job, a nice house but what I really wanted was a family: a partner, children. Now all I can hope for is that I keep my cool enough not to cause anything or anyone significant harm."

"You could still have all of those things" And Tony could see it all, he really could. Bruce living in the suburbs with a small child and a wife. He pressed down the unexpected envy at this imaginary spouse. Bruce would make a brilliant Dad, Tony had no doubt. He would comfort them when they hurt themselves or woke from a bad dream, help them with their homework, make time just to play. He'd never given it thought before, but now that he had, Tony was of the opinion that it had to happen for Bruce.

Bruce attempted a cynical laugh but somewhere along the way it turned into a sob, and there were tears gradually trailing down his face. Tony came to the conclusion that the drugs must have broken down an internal wall because a sober Bruce would never allow such a show of emotions. "Just don't Tony. My control may have improved some, but today pretty much summed up just how unreliable my control is. I can't do that to someone I profess to love. I can't promise to look after anyone when I can't guarantee that I won't go green and quite literally break them. And all of that is presuming anyone could love me back."

"Don't say that Bruce." His utter lack of hope was horrifying to Tony. How could anyone not love Bruce? That was the real question.

"You can hardly contradict the basis for my doubts. It's not like there's a lack of supporting evidence." It was strange how he phrased it; this personal matter turned so scientific, although that in itself wasn't so out of character for Bruce. Odd, but in that moment Tony would have done anything to show his friend his mistaken reasoning. He grappled with the instinct to lean forward and press their lips together, make him feel loved. It was one thing he could be good at, the more physical things. But that would be completely the wrong thing to do now when Bruce was fragile and not entirely with it. And knowing Tony it wouldn't stop there. He would take it too far and most likely leave Bruce with yet another complex.

Instead Tony budged closer and pulled the smaller man into his arms, hugging him tight to his chest. He felt Bruce initially tense- in surprise he assumed- before relaxing into the embrace, allowing his own arms to wrap around Tony in return. He'd always had the sneaking suspicion that Bruce longed for human contact, even of the less gentle kind, given that most people tiptoed around him. Probably wasn't an exaggeration to say that he was starved of it. Tony's arm trailed up and down his back before he eventually encountered a sliver of bare skin through a rip in the shirt. "Jesus, Bruce. You're freezing." Tony got no reply, but pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around Bruce. After a minute or so of silence he lent in to his ear and murmured "For what it's worth. I love you, you have to know that." His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt of his sincerity. At some point they would have to have a talk, a serious conversation, about feelings and all of the things that Tony wasn't good with. Because no one should deserve to feel so little of their self, and he just had to help Bruce see how very brilliant he was. But that sort of talk was best saved for a time when both were well rested and didn't have the contents of an entire pharmacy's load of medication circling their bloodstream.

He hadn't expected a reply, but received one, nonetheless: mumbled and half asleep. "You know that's not what I meant." And like that, he was gone; out like a light. Tony felt the moment when his charge turned to a dead weight in sleep and held him even closer, pressing a small kiss to his forehead.

Bruce had obviously assumed his admission was one of friendly affection, and to a certain extent it was. But just looking at his sleeping face, a foreign feeling twisted inside him. He spoke in a delayed reply to his friend, the words falling on dead ears. "I'm just not so sure about that any more."


	2. Chapter 2

I'd like to apologize for this being such a long time coming. It has to be said that my drive as a writer is shitty and to be honest I don't know exactly where I'm going with this story. Also been quite busy, but enough with the excuses. Thank you for taking the time to read, favourite, follow and/or review this story so far. I hope you enjoy this, and please do give me your thoughts by way of review if you have the time.

Wide eyes, utterly terrified eyes. That was the first thing brought to his attention. Framed by thick dark lashes and a colour that reminded him of something long past. Betty. The boy's face was cherubic in structure with babyish cheeks and dimples, but the expression made him feel ill, especially given that it was directed him. The view seemed to pan out, and suddenly Bruce recognized the setting, with the waitress barely a foot away; and he could almost feel the hot liquid seep down the front of his top as the cup fell to the floor and shattered. This was nothing like real-life. Time had never previously slowed to this point, usually it went in a flash. But right now he was able to see the entire scene, take in every detail, most prominently the small boy who was sat a few tables over with his mother. The last thought he had before exploding out of his own skin, was that he remembered a time when the prospect of having his very own child was likelihood rather than a dream.

The black empty space receded after an uncertain amount of time; of course he had no idea how long it had been. The passage of time was often warped for him at the best of times. Bruce was himself once more, only to realize the devastation that surrounded him. It had been the coffee shop before; even without the pre-hulk memory, it's evidence lay around him in a sick and twisted jigsaw. Windows, tables and cups shattered into pieces of various sizes. Coffee puddled on the floor mixing with the dark red and suddenly he could hear the screaming, a latent memory perhaps, so pained, so very scared that he pressed his palms to his ears in an attempt to block it out. But the sound was coming from inside his head and the pressure only seemed to amplify it. He cast his eyes around the remains of the room and amongst the chaos of broken furniture and unpleasant puddles was a small body. It drew his attention despite being a relatively unobtrusive and undemanding sight amongst the scene of devastation. Unmoving; much like everything else in the once café. It was the boy, who at a glance could have been sleeping but no. His skin was too pale and not even his chest rose and fell with the smallest of breaths. He didn't want to look but couldn't avert his eyes either, there was some kind of masochistic draw to simply watching this still image. But the horror he felt at this sight was dull, not a shock. After all this is what he had always known would happen. He was not good for people in any sense of the word. The pain was not that of a sudden, unexpected explosion, but more the crush of a heavy load that had rested upon one's for a long time before finally teaming up with gravity and winning. Without experience of both he couldn't really be sure which was worse. But was that really something worth considering?

The guilt was an entirely separate matter. Take the situation as it was and enforce it with the knowledge that it was entirely his fault and suddenly the whole thing was somehow all the more sickening. Bruce could feel it tugging at him, almost as if a physicality, wrapped about him and it felt suffocating, at least at the current time. Bruce tried to pull away from this feeling but instead it tightened about his middle . Like. An. Arm.

An arm. Bruce blinked and found himself in an equally unusual, although far less disturbing situation. He was sure it must be morning by now but the room was still half dark due to the blinds that covered the windows. But to address the warm body well within his personal space, it had to be acknowledged that he was sharing his bed with someone, another guy to be more specific. It felt strangely pleasant, to have the warmth of another person pressed against him and arms wrapped about his middle. It had been a long time since he had slept with someone in this way. Bruce shifted once more, struggling to ascertain what was going on, when everything in his mind was so foggy. The movement seemed to jostle his companion also as he felt hands smooth up and down his back in an attempt at soothing as a mouth that was pressed against the juncture between his neck and shoulder hushed him, the warmth of breath raising goose bumps all over his skin. It brought with it a vague scent of alcohol and brush of stubble, combining with the prominent presence of cologne that all added up to something, someone, very familiar. Tony.

Shit. The occurrences of last night suddenly rushed back to Bruce, hitting him like a brick wall. Fuck. Tony had found him like that. Now he would know just how messed up he was. The way that Bruce survived was by pretending; pretending that he was happy, pretending that he didn't hate himself or feel horrifically alone all the time. If even one person knew the illusion was shattered. That problem would have to be dealt with when it actually arose. Right now Bruce felt nauseous. Whether it be something to do with the vast amount of sedatives he had ingested or the worryingly realistic dream, he couldn't tell but he knew he had to get up now. He slipped carefully out of Tony's arms, the whispered "No," that rolled off his tongue making something twist inside him. Luckily he didn't wake.

Bruce padded calmly into the adjoining bathroom before closing the door quietly behind him and retching into the sink. The acidic taste burnt his throat and he was quick to wash it away with a mouthful of water from the tap. Next point of order: shower. Bruce stripped and tossed the ripped shirt into the bin along with the tattered slacks, stepping into the rush of steaming water. The reasonable heat acted as a relaxant for his tensed muscles and for a good few minutes he did nothing but stand and let the water run over his skin.

After another five minutes Bruce managed to wash his hair and step from the glass cubicle feeling refreshed although still inexplicably tired. He dried off and pulled his boxers back on being careful to avoid looking in the mirror. It never got him anywhere good, and he would have had words with Tony about taking the ceiling to floor monstrosity down if he didn't feel that his motives might be questioned. Bruce had become accustomed to simply letting his gaze pass over the displeasing reflection that stared back at him, to the point where he almost didn't have to think about it anymore.

He returned to the bedroom briefly, rummaging around in a draw to procure a random t-shirt which he pulled hastily over his bare chest. Bruce chanced a look back at Tony who honestly looked adorable: hands fisted in the loose comforter and a small ambiguous smile adorning his face. This sight cheered him for the briefest of moments as he slipped out of the room, his face soon returning to the safety of its blank mask, deciding that some coffee was in order if he was to feel anywhere near normal. Caffeine always helped. Well that was a lie, but coffee had to be one of his best friends.

Having headed to the communal kitchen and sticking on a new pot, Bruce stood and waited for it to brew leaning heavily against the counter. Somewhere within him he was aware that there would have to be explanations at some point, but at the moment he was busy hoping that they could get past this without a mention of last night. Then again he never had been the lucky one.

Tony woke in an unfamiliar room and to an empty bed, for a moment thinking that this was like the start of most of his days before the memories of last night returned to him, with the help of identifying the interior as Bruce's room. Bruce! Where was he? The initial panic brought about by his absence lead to Tony scrambling off the bed and set on a search to find the honourable Doctor. Fortunately it took him less than a minute to stumble upon the sight of him making up some fresh coffee, back to the door. Tony, being the man that he was, couldn't help but admire the view but mentally shook himself before he had the chance to make any crude comments. He still struggled with being appropriate at the best of times.

"Bruce?" He questioned uncertainly, unsure of the type of response he might receive. The initial reaction showed in the way his back muscles tensed under the fitted t-shirt.

"Morning, Tony." As unobservant as he was even Tony could hear the false cheer in his voice. He also didn't fail to notice the fact that he refused to turn and actually look at him.

"Bruce-"

"Would you like any coffee Tony? I was just about to make a fresh pot." He fidgeted to an almost aggravating level, moving about cutlery and cups along with just about everything left out on the surface. And Tony could see the lack of purpose behind the movements. Also, he had a prominent dislike of being ignored. He just wanted to talk.

He began again, hoping to at least start a conversation. "We need to-"

"Or I can make you an espresso?" Never mind that the answer to that question was yes, Bruce's outright avoidance was frustrating. Tony had never been one to hide his annoyance; not well at least.

"Stop!" He all but shouted, pausing to collect himself before lowering his voice to a normal leveland continuing. "Bruce we NEED to talk. Avoiding the issue isn't going to help and would you please just look at me already?"

"Fine!" Bruce whipped around faster than anything, his hands forming into tight fists which was accompanied by the crunch as the mug he had been holding gave up its integral structure and similarly gave up its caffeinated contents all over the floor. The mess was ignored even as chunks and smaller fragments of china fell to the wooden floor. "So you're going to 'help' me are you? You're hardly one to talk. Do tell how the emotionally incompetent alcoholic intends on fixing the pointlessly suicidal depressive? What the fuck are you hoping to achieve? I am not a charity case, least of all to a person who wouldn't acknowledge their own problems if they hit him in the face with a baseball bat."

For a moment afterwards he stopped, breathing heavily while the anger still lingered, green in his eyes. Then suddenly it was gone: Bruce looked strangely small and forlorn all over again. His shoulders hung. "Sorry."

Tony sighed, somewhat deflated "Don't be, you didn't say anything about me that wasn't true." That was the reality of the situation. Of course he knew he had problems but most of the time he deemed it better to simply ignore them in favour of attempting to live a happy life. Not that that worked. In the awkward silence that followed he let his eyes wander, mainly over Bruce. Tony watched the hand by his side clench and unclench before he actually processed just what the vivid red there meant. The mug! "You're bleeding." Concern was evident in his voice despite the relatively minor injury.

Bruce glanced briefly at the hand in question seeming highly unsurprised. "Guess I am." His voice was full of apathy, to the point it made Tony frown. He shouldn't be surprised by attitude, being prone to it himself, but it seemed so very unlike his friend.

"Let me look at it." Tony took an experimental step forward, reaching a hand out hopefully. One could question exactly what it was he was hoping for.

Bruce made no move towards him or away, shrugging in mock disinterest. "No need, I'll heal fine either way." But Tony couldn't just leave this.

"Please Bruce, just for my peace of mind?" He pretty much pleaded and eventually could see the other's will break before guiding him down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Now just wait right here." Tony tapped Bruce's nose playfully- because he honestly couldn't handle the sombre tone anymore and maybe wanted to put off the confrontation that bit longer- before going to locate the first aid kit.

It was as he had his back turned, rummaging in some random cupboard, when Bruce chose to speak. "I'm not a child you know." There was a quite defiance in his voice, an almost challenge.

But Tony did not rise to it, replying in a subdued fashion. "I know." His voice was soft and careful in application. Of course he knew that Bruce was not a child, and had always perceived him to be more capable than himself. That, however, did not stop this need he felt to care for him, especially in light of recent events.

Locating the first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink Tony retrieved it and turned to move back towards Bruce. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite the other, their knees just about touching, but perpendicular to the table. Setting to work in measured silence, Tony began by removing an antiseptic wipe from the pack and drawing the injured hand onto his lap, palm raised. The skin felt pleasantly warm against his fingertips and a small shudder went through him, unexpected and uncontained. There were a number of cuts that ran across Bruce's hand, uneven and overlapping although they luckily seemed free of any fragments. Tony set to work, gently cleaning the area with his eyes focused on the task in hand. They remained in a not entirely comfortable silence for a few moments before Tony spoke.

"You know, I have no idea what I'd do if I lost you Bruce." Something in his gut twisted painfully at the echoes of yesterday evening but he fought it back as the distress threatened to break in his voice. This situation made things easier, he was glad to have an excuse to avoid eye contact. "And I'm aware that me saying this changes nothing but I just want you to know. I act like what I do is important, more so than anything or anyone else, but I would drop it all to talk to you, to spend time with you." Tony knew what it was to be alone and the idea of Bruce feeling such was almost painful to him. "For what it's worth, I want to help in any way I can."

"I- thanks I guess. I don't mean to seem selfish by my actions. Just sometimes anything seems preferable to talking. But I'll try." Bruce's words were slow and halting, also rather quiet. His willingness to submit surprised him somewhat, after everything.

"Please don't for a second think I blame you. I'm just glad you're ok." Having cleaned the cuts thoroughly, he placed a dressing over Bruce's palm, before beginning to wind surgical tape around it to hold it in place. Tony took care that it was both tight enough to stay secure and yet also not so tight that it restricted movement or blood flow. Once it was fixed to his liking Tony cut the tape and smoothed the end down. "There we go, all fini-" As he spoke, he had brought his head up from being hunched over Bruce's hand and found himself acutely aware of their inadvisable proximity. Tony was right in his face, their heads tilted towards each other; their slightly open mouths almost sharing breaths. And yet neither of them moved away. Tony quickly realized that 1) Bruce's eyes were more pretty than he remembered 2) this was an undeniable 'moment' and the third point dissolved along with his resolve as he felt their lips press together.


End file.
